


Necrotic

by TheCookieOfDoom



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Haunted Houses, Jon Is Pretty In Makeup, M/M, Magic Drugs, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-11-09 06:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11098698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCookieOfDoom/pseuds/TheCookieOfDoom
Summary: Old houses and ancient mansions were haunted. That was a known fact. For whatever reason, spirits liked to infest the wood like termites, echoing through the halls and down stairs, sometimes even drifting through walls.Ghosts were bullshit. That was a known fact. Robb Stark would never think otherwise.-------previously "Coalesce" Last name change I swear!





	1. Chapter 1

Old houses and ancient mansion were haunted. That was a known fact. For whatever reason, spirits liked to infest the wood like termites, echoing through the halls and down stairs, sometimes even drifting through walls. Depending on who you talked to, these ghosts could be harmless shades, a recording set to infinite repeat of some fraction of their lives. Or they could be poltergeists out to destroy your home and eventually kill you, if you didn’t manage to move out and sell the house before they could. 

Ghosts were bullshit. That was a known fact. Robb Stark, pride and joy of his entire bloodline, would never think otherwise. He was a man of science, believing in what he could see and feel. If he couldn’t experience it with one of five senses, then it simply did not exist, and he had never seen, heard, or touched a ghost. Nor had he ever seen a proven case of spirits haunting the living. 

Then there was the issue of what was the point? Was the afterlife really so boring that ghosts decided to just move things around and fuck with people? Were they so enraged at their death that they had to take the lives of others, who they did not know or had no reason to take revenge on? 

Bullshit. All of it. 

So when Robb moved into his new home, an ancient mansion that just looked like the kind you would see on the poster of a horror film, he didn’t think twice about what may have been there before him. What may still be lingering, just out of touch of the senses. 

***

“How did you even manage to get a hold of this place?” Theon asked, looking up at the house. It was three stories in total and larger than a man of twenty-six would ever need in this day and age. The electricity bill alone would be a nightmare, he was sure. It was real diamond chandeliers inside, with hundreds of bulbs per. 

“Inherited it. Belonged to some great uncle twice removed or something. And since he had no living relatives other than us, he decided to leave it to me,” Robb said with a shrug, leaning against his car as he looked up at the mansion as well. It was beautiful. Dilapidated in a charming way, with moss and ivy climbing parts of the walls. Hidden away in the trees as it was, with a long driveway leading up to it from a wrought iron gate, it was a bit spooky. 

“You could have some great parties here.” 

“Yeah. I think I’ll have to have one for Halloween at least, just on principle.” He wouldn’t even need to decorate anything, just let it be creepy on it’s own. 

“Come on,” he said, clapping Theon on the shoulder. “Let’s get everything inside.” 

They went to start taking boxes inside, piling them in their respective rooms; most went to the kitchen or one of the bottom floor bedrooms, since Robb hadn’t decided which room he wanted for himself, yet. Inside, everything was all covered in a thick layer of dust, sheets laid over the antique furniture to protect it from said dust. 

“This is one of the creepiest places I’ve ever been,” Theon said, a touch of awe in his voice. Robb had to agree; this place beat any haunted house by miles of creepiness on the creep scale. 

“It’s great though. I think It’ll be really peaceful out here.” 

Of course he would say that, living in the real life set of a horror movie. Creepy house on the hill, inherited from a distant relative he’d never met. Twenty-six and living alone, with no one to hear his scream. There were dozens of horror movies that fit this exact setup; Robb would know, he’d seen most of them, as per his usual weekend routine where he and Theon would meet up for a horror movie marathon and drinks. 

Robb was going to work on cleaning up the house, but that was an almost overwhelming prospect, with how much had to be done. He would break it up into sections tomorrow, since it was getting late. Tonight, he just got the living room cleaned up, and tv set up so that they could follow through with their horror movie tradition. 

***

Robb just decided to crash on the couch that night, after Theon left, not wanting to wait and wash all the linens because that would take too long, and he was tired. When he woke up, he got t tidying things, starting in the kitchen so that he could make breakfast. After he walked through the mansion, making note of what needed to be taken care of, and what could just be left alone, ultimately decided that only the kitchen, dining room, study--because it would be so cool to just have an official  _ study-- _ and one of the bedrooms. For convenience, he just chose the bedroom on the first floor closest to everything else. 

Surprisingly, the plumbing and electricity was all sound, nothing needing to be replaced or fixed, and it was easy to get wifi set up. By the end of the day, the mansion was almost good as new. Although, Robb did look like a ball of dust after all was said and done for the day. He would be coughing up dust balls for days, most likely. 

It was that night, after he’d showered and crawled under the covers, that it began. Little things, just creaking floorboards to start with. Easily explained away as an old house settling after having been walked in more than it likely had in years, even decades. Nothing to lose sleep over, and Robb didn’t, sleeping soundly all throughout the night. Give it a few days, and everything would be running smoothly, the house having adjusted to suddenly being occupied again. 

Only, nothing was smooth. After that second night, it only got more and more strange, becoming harder to explain away as just an old house. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sarks did not believe in monsters. Ghosts and ghouls and beasts? Those were all scary stories meant for horror movies and halloween costumes, not to be taken as fact. There was nothing lurking in the shadows, just waiting for you to turn your back. Perhaps once these things had existed, long ago in the time of myth and gods. But no longer. Robb, as his father and his father before him, believed only in what could be seen with his own eyes. Just the same as any other modern man. Robb held his belief in fact sacred above all else. 

For almost three months, he had held the truth close to his heart, a cold comfort in the even colder house.

When he first realized the ancient manor he now called home was haunted, he tried his best to ignore it. To pretend there was nothing lurking just on the other side of the veil. When he couldn’t ignore it, he decided to try and make peace with it, be friendly. A few flickering lights and ominously rattling teacups, he could handle. When he heard strange sounds at night, he simply rolled over, put his earbuds in, and played some music. When papers flew off his desk, he picked them up, put them back, and said nothing to whatever entity had knocked them down for fear of angering it.

Then, it stopped being flickering lights and strange sounds.

When he first saw what appeared to be claw marks torn through the walls, he had honest to God believed it was as easy to explain as calling it termites. The place must be riddled with them, after all. But they didn’t stop after the exterminator came, becoming only more frequent. Tearing through walls, and paintings, and furniture, Raked down the dining table and shredding the cushions on the couch.

He heard screams like bloody murder outside at night, sometimes seeming to echo from beneath the house itself. Even though he knew better, he called it the wind whistling through the cracks.

It was almost three months before he woke to screams torn from his own throat, and raw agony cascading in waves down his back, white hot and visceral. His sheets were wet with lines of blood, and when Robb dragged himself from bed into the bathroom, he saw the claw marks raked down his back like lashes from a whip. 

Wordlessly, his brow pinched and lips parted in a silent cry, he gingerly touched the edge of one gash with his fingertips, hoping for it to disappear like the mist of a nightmare dispersing. Only to recoil with a hiss to find that the wounds were real, and not the result of a sleep addled mind. 

Finally, after almost three months of his house itself coming alive to drive him off, Robb admitted to himself that he needed help. Extermination of the likes a pest exterminator couldn’t provide. He didn’t know anyone who could help him, but he knew someone who might. Without waiting for morning--and without knowing what time in the night it was--Robb left the bathroom and went to grab his phone. Thinking better of it, he then went downstairs to grab the bag of rock salt by the front door. Robb had naively believed it was for salting the driveway when the snows came, but now he wondered if it served a different purpose. Now, he carried it back to his room and used it to make a circle around his bed like had been shown in countless movies, away to purify a space and keep the supernatural away. As he got back onto the bed, phone clutched in a white-knuckled grip, he desperately hoped it would be enough to grant him peace, at least through the night. 

Theon answered with a groan and a growled “piss off,” and Robb realized just how late it must be. Checking his phone showed that it was half past three in the morning. He felt a twinge of guilt at waking Theon so early, but this couldn’t wait. 

“I need your help,” he said, before Theon had a chance to speak and tell him off once more, or hang up. 

“Robb? Bloody hell, mate, it’s the middle of the damn night. Can’t it wait until morning?”

“You know I wouldn’t have called if it could. How fast can you get dressed and get over here?” 

“Fuck, I don’t know. Forty-five minutes, maye?” 

“Good. Please hurry, Theon.” 

“Robb, tell me what’s happened,” Theon said, sitting up in the bed. Robb’s borderline panicked tone, coupled with the fact that he has never called this late in the history of their friendship, had Theon fully awake and worried for his best friend. 

“I’ll see you soon.” If he lived that long, Robb thought, hanging up. 

Robb sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs. At every sound he jumped, eyes darting around the room to find the source. Not that he could make out much in the shadows. It was still dark, the only light coming from his phone screen; he hadn’t thought to turn on the light, and now he didn’t want to reach outside the pseudo-safety of his salt circle. Theon would find all of this foolish, no doubt, but it gave Robb at least a small bit of comfort. 

Theon was banging on the front door thirty-nine minutes later. Robb went down to let him in, bag of salt cradled in his arms like a shield. He grabbed Theon by the arm with his free hand and dragged him inside, to his bedroom and onto the bed, Robb following after. The bag of salt lay forgotten on the ground beside the bed. 

“If you wanted to get me into bed, there’s easier ways to do it,” Theon joked, smile fading when he saw the real fear in Robb’s eyes, the way he kept looking around the room as if waiting for some unseen enemy to attack. “Tell me what’s going on, Robb, you’re freaking me out.” 

“My house is haunted,” he said, blurting out the words tactlessly and entirely aware that Theon would think he’d gone mad. 

Indeed, Theon laughed, not knowing how else he should react to such unlikely, unexpected information. But it soon died out, extinguished like a flame. “Wait, you’re actually serious?”

“Deadly. I understand you don’t believe me, but--but here, try and deny this.” He turned to but his back to Theon, pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the marks to Theon. 

“What happened to you?” Theon asked, horror in his voice. 

“There’s something here. I don’t know what, but it did this to me. Right before I called. I swear I haven’t lost my mind.” He pulled his shirt back down, wincing at the feel of it over his wounds, and turned back to face Theon once more. “I don’t know what to do. I thought maybe you would know someone that could help me?” Robb was begging, pleading for Theon to be able to help him. 

“I… Yeah. I, uh, I know a guy. He’s a bit of a freak, but I think this is right up his alley.” 

Robb breathed a shaky sigh of relief when Theon pulled his phone from his pocket, shoulders sagging as if a great weight had just been lifted from them. But when Theon called, no one picked up, and Robb could faintly hear a recording. 

“I’m unavailable until the 13th. Leave a message.”

Theon rolled his eyes, seeming unconcerned, and instead sent a text before turning his phone back off. “Alright, I texted him your number and situation. Around this time of year he’s off kumbaya-ing in Iceland, but he’ll be back in a few days.”

“Yeah, I heard…. Thank you, Theon.” 

“Yeah, anytime…. How long has all of this,” he gestured vaguely to the room, “been going on?” 

Robb sounded so tired, so exhausted and bone weary, looking suddenly haggard and many times his young age when he said, “Since I moved in.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“Would you have believed me if I had?” No, he wouldn’t have, because Theon knew what Robb knew, what they’d always known; the supernatural didn’t exist. It was just cannon fodder for Hollywood and Halloween. 

Theon wanted to do something for Robb’s back, but there was nothing to do. He has no supplies, or so Robb said. It was more likely he didn’t didn’t want to leave the salt circle, clutching Theon’s arm in a vice grip when his friend tried. Then pried off his hand and went to search the bathroom, coming up with a first aid kit that Robb had forgot was even there, and returned without anything happening to him. 

After patching Robb up as best he could with the limited supplies, Theon decided to stay the night. Robb didn’t need to be alone, trapped with whatever spirit seemed to want him dead. Theon kicked off his shoes and stripped out of his clothes until he was down to his boxers, careful not to disrupt the circle when he tossed his clothes off to the side. Even if he didn’t believe in it, it did give Robb a degree of a feeling safe, and he wouldn’t take that away from his friend. 

“We haven’t done this since we were kids,” Theon said, laying down next to Robb, the other laughing weakly. 

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” 

While Theon slept peacefully on his side of the large bed, Robb stayed awake, eyes constantly searching for danger, or anything that did not belong, that may not even be there, for all his house had been quiet since he’d called Theon. By morning, as the sun’s first rays filtered through the sheer lace drapes, Robb thought he heard laughter echoing up through the floorboards. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weekly votes and prompts once again available!  
> https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1OjDEzBg-iUO8967KvPFTGGfVtc2iOylg_aSdoUQKpnY/edit


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time to finally meet witchy-bitchy Jon

At precisely nine fifty-eight in the evening on August thirteenth, four days after Theon called his mysterious friend, Robb received a text. He’d wondered at first why Theon hadn’t left a message explaining what happened, then he had explained that his friend would likely think it was just a prank if he heard Theon’s voice, and not respond. Better to just text him Robb’s number with no context and let his curiosity get the better of him.

Unknown: who is this and why did Theon send me your number?

Robb: my name is Robb. He told me you could help me.

Unknown: depends what you need help with.

Robb: a ghost?

His phone rang a few seconds later. “Hello?” he asked.

“Did Theon put you up to this?” came an annoyed voice.

“No, I swear.” The stretch of silence led Robb to think the man didn’t believe him, and his heart fell. “Please, I know Theon likes to play games like that, but I don’t. I really need help, and I’ll pay you however much you want—” Robb almost screamed when a raven almost indistinguishable from the darkness outside started pecking at his window. Breathing hard from the shock of it Robb regarded the creature, watching it cock its head at him. Its eyes were a milky white, as if it was blind. They stared at each other for a long moment, Robb distinctly feeling as if something more was happening with the interaction. Then abruptly it took off, flying away.

“—Hello? Are you still there?” the man on the phone said.

“Yes! Sorry, just… distracted. Sorry.”

“Right. Well, I said I’ll meet with you, and we can talk about what’s happening. If you actually have a ghost and not come kind of disorder, then I’ll help you.”

“Really? You’ll meet me?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Yes, right, of course. Where should we—”

“I’ll text you the address. Does around twelve work for you?”

“Yes—”

“Great, see you tomorrow.” He hung up before Robb had the chance to even thank him, and Robb scowled at his phone. It was frustrating the way the man kept cutting him off, but he was too grateful at possibly getting help to really be angry. His phone chimed with another text, an address and a name. Robb saved the contact as Jon Snow, and decided to try a preliminary search to see if he could find anything on this guy. Fifteen minutes later had him shaking his head in denial. According to this website, Jon was a psychic. He owned a quaint little magic shop—which the site was for—and had quite a few positive reviews regarding his talent for fortune telling and _ghost-hunting_. It was unbelievable, truly. Theon had sent him to a damned _psychic_.

***

Robb left the house at eleven the next morning with a feeling of dread in his stomach, leaving early to the shop Jon had sent him the address of in case he got lost; something had a high chance of happening, being new in the city as he was. On the off chance that Jon really was an actual psychic, Robb didn’t want to keep him waiting because he couldn’t get to the right place. Thankfully he did, showing up at about eleven thirty.

Walking inside, Robb wasn’t met with anything that was glaringly tacky. It looked like any other hippie shop, with shelves of incense and salt crystals. There was a section off in the corner concealed by sheer curtains that he assumed was meant for readings.

“You’re early,” someone said, drawing his attention. Robb turned to see an attractive man leaning against the doorframe that lead to the back of the shop, an amused quirk to his lips. “Around noon usually doesn’t mean before for most people. More often it leans to twelve thirty.”

“Are you Jon Snow?” Robb asked incredulously. The man before him was hardly what he expected, clad in a pair of tight black jeans and a top that had once been what looked like a band t-shirt, before it’d been haphazardly cut to show off his midriff. Jon had a tattoo on his hip, a raven in flight that reminded Robb of the bird he’d seen last night, and when one sleeve slipped down Jon’s shoulder, Robb swore he saw a flash of silver on his chest before he tugged it back up with ringed fingers.

“In the flesh. Now just to be clear, I don’t want to waste your time, and more importantly, I don’t want you to waste mine,” he said, eyes narrowing as he regarded Robb and crossed his arms over his chest. His shirt was pulled up higher and the movement drew Robb’s attention once more to his toned abdomen; his navel was pierced, something that Robb was surprised to see. He was even more surprised at the unbidden thought of wanting that piercing in his mouth. “What makes you think you’re being haunted?” Jon asked

“Is that how you normally dress?” Robb asked, immediately regretting it when Jon rose an eyebrow at him, looking almost insulted.

“Do you have a problem with my clothes?” he asked, clearly unimpressed.

“No! Sorry, that’s just… you’re not what I expected is all.” A young twenty-something with black painted nails and eyeliner was the last thing he expected, actually. Jon looked like he just walked out of a punk rock concert, hardly like someone that belonged in some bohemian free spirit psychic shop. Rather than telling him to get out, though, Jon just huffed a soft laugh.

“This isn’t how I normally dress, no. Not when I’m working, anyway. Now if you don’t mind, my time is valuable, so…”

“Oh, right! Well I didn’t think I was, at first. I thought it might just be termites, or because the house is so old, or—”

“Short version, please.”

“Well. It was everything cliché that happens in a horror movie, then this happened.” He put his back to Jon and pulled up his shirt to reveal the slowly healing claw marks. He still hadn’t been properly tended to, the wounds stitched together with simple butterfly tape. Behind him, he could hear Jon move, the soft clinking of jewelry accompanying the sounds of his steps as he approached, before he felt cold fingers on his back.

“Well, that’s certainly as good a reason as any,” Jon murmured, speaking more to himself than Robb. He tugged Robb’s shirt back down. “Whoever tried to patch you up did a shit job of it; that’s not going to heal very nicely. I can do a bit better, if you’d like.”

“Alright?”

“Come on back, then.” Robb followed Jon through the door he’d entered form—Jon stroking his finger’s down a black bird’s back as he went—and up a flight of stairs into what must be Jon’s flat above the store. It was nice, if a bit cluttered. “Have a seat in the kitchen, I’ll be right back. Oh, and don’t touch anything that moves.”

Before Robb could ask what that meant, Jon was disappearing like a wisp of smoke, leaving him to find the kitchen on his own. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, it was just an ordinary, modern kitchen, the bar top covered in scattered pages of notes and open books, all of it written in a language he couldn’t decipher more than a few words of here and there. Then he heard a soft sound like something landing by his elbow. He looked to see a round black form staring at him with big eyes, it’s nose twitching. It was unnerving, the way the creature’s eyes seemed to bore into his soul, and he couldn’t make himself look away, staring right back at it until Jon returned. Just down the hall it seemed as if he was talking to someone, Robb hearing bits of a conversation. “Who was that?” he asked when Jon returned, still looking at the fury creature by his arm.

“Who was who?”

“The person so you just talking to.”

“I wasn’t talking to anybody.” Okay… so Jon was a freak, as Theon had warned him, apparently having full on conversations within himself. “I see you’ve met Shadow.”

“Who? This thing?”

“He’s not a thing, he’s a rabbit,” Jon said, picking up the black rabbit and petting him softly, before setting him aside, out of the way.

“A rabbit named Shadow.”

“Yes. He moves like one, so I thought it was appropriate. Take off your shirt, please.” Robb did, while Jon took out the supplies he had brought.

“Do you believe me about the ghost?”

“No,” Jon said, and Robb turned to face him with wide eyes. “This could be from many things other than a ghost.”

“Are you serious?”

“Like death. It could have been an animal, hell could have been a human if their nails were long enough,” Jon said, shrugging his shoulder. “Doesn’t prove anything.”

“ _What_.”

“Look, people come to me all the time with supposed hauntings. Call me a cynic but it takes more than some scratches to convince me. _But_ ,” Jon said, silencing Robb’s protests, “since you seemed genuinely afraid last night, I’ll check your place out and see if there’s really anything there that’s worth my time. Fair?”

“How soon can you do that?”

“Today, if you want. Now sit still.” Jon started carefully peeling the butterfly tape away from Robb’s ravaged skin.

“So, you’re some kind of psychic, ghost-hunting medic. You’re very strange.” Robb flinched as something cool and stinging was wiped down his wounds.

“I should hope so. Life wouldn’t be quite so fun if I weren’t a little strange.” Robb smiled despite himself, letting Jon work in silence for a few minutes before something occurred to him.

“Should you have left your store unattended?”

“My raven will tell me if anyone comes in.”

“Your raven,” Robb said flatly. Jon hummed in acknowledgement, likely knowing that Robb was thinking him a bit mad for entrusting his store to a _bird_. Robb wasn’t wrong, he _was_ half-mad on a good day.

“Yes, my raven.”

“You just have a whole menagerie going on, don’t you? Your raven reminds me of something actually. I saw one just like it at my window last night.”

“Would that be when you almost screamed like a child, and then proceeded to go silent for almost three full minutes while you stared at it?”

“Yes—how did you…?” He looked over his shoulder to see Jon giving him a droll look as if to say ‘really?’. “Right, because you’re ‘psychic’.”

“It’s best not to insult the one tending your wounds, you know. I could make this hurt a lot worse.” He was only joking, of course, Robb didn’t need to look at him to see that. He could hear it in his voice, and his touch was gentle as he carefully applied some kind of cool cream to the cuts.”

“What is that stuff you’re using?”

“It’s a salve that I make. Works wonders for cuts and burns. You probably won’t even have scars after you’ve healed if you apply it every day.”

“Wow, you really must be magic.” Jokes aside, it _was_ working wonders for hi. The pain that had left him stiff for days was finally abating.

“I owe this magic to mother nature. Few things can compare to her.”

“Are you a botanist as well?”

“I’ve studied the medicinal properties of plants, yes. How else am I to convince people of my magic?” Robb laughed, crossing his arms on the bar while Jon set about bandaging his wounds and wrapping gauze around his torso to keep the bandages in place. “There, now you’ll be good as new. Let’s go see about this ghost of yours.”

Robb pulled on his shirt and waited as Jon cleaned up his supplies and put everything away, reading a page of notes from the pile Jon had made earlier, stacking them up and out of the way on the other side of the bar. “What language is this?” he asked. It was somehow familiar, at least a few words were, but he couldn’t quite make out any full sentences and it was driving him mad. He could read some things like ‘death’ and ‘ritual’ and ‘apple’, and assumed it was some kind of spell-book. It certainly looked that way, leather-bound with ancient-looking, yellowed pages.

“Gaelic, mostly,” Jon said over his shoulder. That would explain why Robb understood some of the writing; his mother had tried to teach him when he was younger. “Some of it is Latin as well, and some other long dead languages.”

“You understand all of this?”

“Mhm. I’d be a terrible psychic if I couldn’t read Latin, and I grew up with Gaelic…” Jon trailed off, as if thinking of his earlier years trouble him. Robb was almost tempted to pry, but didn’t want to risk offending Jon, and have the man no longer willing to help him. “I’m going to go put on a different shirt, then we can go,” he said, disappearing once more. When he returned he was in a plain black shirt, an aged leather messenger bag slung across his body. He led Robb back downstairs and picked up a piece of jewelry that was sitting where his raven had previously been perched and put it on. Robb thought it was some kind of clip for his unruly black curls, until Jon dropped his hand and he could see the raven cuff wrapped around his ear. He seemed to be quite fond of the creatures.

Jon left the store with Robb, this time flipping the sign to ‘closed’ before locking it and heading to his car. He followed Robb to the edges of his town where his house lies, looking beautiful—albeit a bit unnerving—against the backdrop of nature that went untouched by man.

**Author's Note:**

> I've mentioned witch Jon before and guess what, yall. It's happening.


End file.
